Saturday, March 13, 2010

It was an absolutely gorgeous morning on Catalina Island. I looked out over the beautiful hills and thought, "I'm so dead."

Lyle left before the sun even came up to catch the ferry to the other side of the island for the start of the marathon. I walked down to the 10K race line and sized up the competition. I chatted with a woman who was celebrating her 80th birthday, a man who would be pushing his handicapped daughter in her wheelchair, and an elderly blind man with an escort who would be holding his arm. I came to the conclusion that I'm a wimp.

I finished, I'll say that, just barely edging out the 80 year old. The wheelchair whizzed past me on the first hill. The blind man crossed the finish line to huge applause. After the finish, I wanted to get my camera so I could take pictures of Lyle. The walk back up the hill to the hotel about killed me. Very painful indeed.

This particular marathon is so grueling that I was told most people should add an hour to their best time. That was about right for Lyle. At nearly 4 and a half hours, I spotted him. I ran the last half mile on the sidewalk beside him. After he's runs 26, we're fairly equally matched.

He was hurting.

But he made it.

And even managed a smile afterwards.

Many of the runners did a post-race soak on the beach.

Lyle opted for flopping down on our bed. I think he's down for the count.

While he sleeps, I plan to support our dog's booming business on Catalina Island. I've always suspected that Olaf was a bit of an entrepeneur.

Why Scravings?

The family vernacular for tidbits of food left on a plate after a meal, as in, "I'll give my scravings to Charlie," or "I CAN have dessert. This is just scravings." It seemed an appropriate word for the little morsels thrown out on our blog. Sometimes tasty, sometimes destined for the dog dish.